


Original Sin

by deepandlovelydark



Series: Second Chances [29]
Category: MacGyver (TV 1985)
Genre: Amnesia, Be Careful What You Wish For, Cabin Fic, Camping, Drugs, Humor, M/M, Multi, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-08 07:40:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13453569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepandlovelydark/pseuds/deepandlovelydark
Summary: Jack Dalton kinda figures he's got everything he wants.Until someone comes knocking on the door, with an offer too bad to be true.He falls for it anyway.





	1. In media res

The transition is abrupt; it feels like he goes straight from deep slumber to alert wakefulness, with no mental fog in between.

Although maybe he's wrong about that, given how fuzzy he is on what's going on. Here's a bedroll, here's a tent. Here's the guy he's been sleeping with all night.

Why does he not have a clue who this guy is?

Why, for that matter, does he not have a clue who he is?

His breathing hitches, but he knows immediately that's the wrong reaction ( _don't do tells_ ). Calms down. Checks himself over, for open wounds or head trauma. No bandages: but then, no blood either. What caused it, then? Liquor? Date-rape drug?

There's a pocket knife lying temptingly close to hand. If they're in a tent, they're more than likely somewhere isolated. He could kill this guy, hide the body and run for it without anybody being the wiser. (He has no doubt that he could pull it off, somehow.)

Maybe that's an overreaction.

Could be natural causes. Some kind of stroke, say, and so much for a couple's happy camping trip...

he silently reaches out for the knife, to find a note stuck to it with duck tape. 

_Dear Mac,_

_you've got amnesia. It's a temporary condition (well, we hope it is) but I figured you'd probably freak if you woke up first. So I'm writing this just in case you do. Feel free to wake me up, though I sleep pretty hard._

_I'm your lover, by the way. Hi._

_Jack Dalton_

He thinks about it. Clearly this Jack Dalton's got a lot invested in him, one way and another. Not just a casual thing. Somebody who'll look after him- and that's important, when he's this vulnerable. 

The bit that really convinces him to stay is where the note was.  

Whether or not the guy has his best interests at heart, Jack must know him better then he does, right now.


	2. the day before

One minute, you're pricing houseboats as a surprise birthday treat for your lover (if they're going to keep visiting Becky as regularly as they do, they really ought to have somewhere to stay in LA). 

The next-

"Mac's what?" 

"Unconscious, and amnesiatic when he wakes up," the DXS agent says. "Of course, alerting Murdoc was out of the question. But somebody went to the trouble of looking you up, on the chance that you were in town too."

"How'd you guys find me- forget it," Jack says. "Take me to 'im."

The agent hesitates. "There's security protocols, you know."

"Strip me down, whatever," Jack says, with a shrug and a wink. "As long as you let me see him."

*************

It's not very exciting when he gets there. Just an ordinary room at the VA, with Mac conked out like a little kid. Soft and peaceful. (Not looking like a hardcore killer at all, not a bit of it.)

The DXS agent is still hanging around. Jack has an idea he's about to get pumped for information. 

(Mac and Murdoc have given him instructions on what to do, how fast to spill and when to break, though he hardly needed their tips on lying. His eye-twitch doesn't bother him outside of the family, or else he'd never get any haulage jobs.)

"So how'd you guys end up tending to a Phoenix affiliate?" That much, at least, is pretty common knowledge. 

"We ran into each other on this last mission, he saved my life. I figured we owed him one- Rebecca is a student of mine. I'm sure she'd say hi, if she wasn't-"

"At that boot camp," Jack says, nodding. Three months training in some top-secret location, strictly cut off from any outside contact. Mac hadn't been happy. 

Becky hadn't been either, but she said she'd understood. "Unc, if we can't take it then we really don't have any business being spies. I mean, it's a lot better to find out that I can't handle it this way, instead of after being kidnapped by a bunch of bad guys."

"I think I know my niece better than that. Course you can handle it!"

"Well, then. Just a matter of proving it to the DXS, right?"

Irrefutable Becky logic. Murdoc had applauded. 

"...are you listening?"

"No," Jack says hastily. "Sorry, say it again."

The agent looks a little stricken. "Amnesia drugs. High quality knockout drops, it was a race to see who could track down the lab first. This week, we nabbed the prize."

Dammit. This is what happens when Murdoc goes off on his own, instead of looking after Mac like he ought to. Quality time with his sister indeed. 

"It's not permanent, is it?"

"It could be," the agent says, dropping his voice. "I palmed some of the stuff- how would you like getting him out of the Game for good? It's a funny sort of drug. Very targeted. You remember everything except your own life."

"But then he wouldn't love me anymore!"

"If what you have is real, it'll survive that," the agent coaxes. "Look, I- I had a partner of my own once. And I wasn't there for him one time, when I needed to be...I'll never stop reliving that. Asking myself why we didn't get out...to all accounts, your MacGyver is a surprisingly clean-cut guy."

"He kills people."

"Everybody does that- I mean, everybody in the business. But you're right, it isn't normal. How'd you like some normal again? Witness protection for both of you? And enough drugs to keep him for a lifetime."

"Quid pro quo," Jack says promptly. "What's in it for you?"

(Okay, so he's not totally unmoved by the sob story; but letting on as much would be bad business.)

"I get feted by my boss, for taking down a Phoenix agent without any mess," the agent says. "And when I go home tonight...maybe I feel a little better about myself, while I'm looking around my cruddy apartment and downing a six-pack all alone. Maybe I get to think back to a day when I saved some lives for once, instead of screwing them up."

They take all night arguing the finer points, before Jack's convinced. 

Not about what happened to the guy's partner, though. That was on the level.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The DXS agent is played by George Eads, I think.
> 
> Just 'cos.


	3. Chapter 3

A brand new start at life.

One second-hand sedan- not a jeep, or anything else they'd have typically driven. A small cash settlement, to buy the basic essentials. (He could have snitched all he wanted from Murdoc's accounts, but Jack's determined to start matters off on the proper footing.) Caretaking for a DXS timeshare in eastern Colorado. Apparently they own a cabin in the mountains there, for the benefit of senior staff. The whole setup isn't a million miles away from what he'd originally envisioned for their move south, barring (sob!) the absence of a plane.

"They're expensive, they leave a paper trail, they're a dead giveaway," the DXS agent had said. "Definitely not."

Ouch: but the guy had been talking sense. So much for flying.

Of course, it's not the end of Jack's worries. Murdoc is a persistent guy, and that's not even getting into what Becky's going to think. (He's told himself, a little feebly, that somebody must have mentioned the plan to her....and anyway, he doesn't even need to think about it until summer's end.)

"You've got this heart condition," he tells MacGyver, as he parks the car. Odd thing, doing the driving himself; Mac's always insisted on doing it before. "One of these pills, every Saturday afternoon. It's very important."

He tosses a rucksack at Mac, takes charge of their solitary suitcase. Not a lot to start a new life with.

"Don't like the sound of that."

Mac's very terse at present. Like he can be, around outsiders. It's gonna be a job earning his trust all over again- geez, but it's been decades since he did that. And Mac had taken the initiative that time.

"It's okay, as long as you remember the pills. And they recommended regular exercise, a vegetarian diet, stuff like that."

Nobody at the DXS had had much of a clue how he ought to handle Mac in this state, so he's just inventing the lies as he goes along. Spinning out stories, now that's something he can handle.

"Only if you do it too," Mac says, scowling. "I have a distinct memory of inventing a bacon rack. Don't try to nudge me into good behaviour, just 'cause I can't remember things."

Damn it, that contraption had been for him. Maybe this drug isn't working as well as it's supposed to, either.

"That's great!" Jack says, injecting enthusiasm into his voice (geez, but this path's steep). "Anything else you can remember?"

"Sort of. I was dreaming about this girl last night. Short and blue-eyed, very pretty-"

"That'd be your niece. Becky."

Mac's eyes widen slightly. "Oh."

"Yeah, she's on a tour of duty right now. Back by the end of summer, hopefully." Maybe he can persuade her into going along with this charade. In order to keep him safe, stop him killing more people- that'd be worth it, right?

(He keeps having this sinking feeling, whenever he thinks about the explanations.)

"Was I in the military too?"

"No," Jack says, with relief. "No, we just spent our whole lives in Minnesota. Awful place. You don't want to go back there."

"Might jog my memory."

"No! MacGyver- seriously, you hated it with a passion. And we don't want to go attracting too much attention, either."

"Why not?"

Jack concentrates. This is gonna be the difficult bit.

"Because you've got a stalker. Real creepy guy. I figure he had something to do with your sudden spell of amnesia, actually. Not that we could prove it."

"Got a picture?" Mac asks intently. 

Why can't he just be freaked out, like a normal person?  "I'll check. We keep losing stuff when we move...but this time, I think we're okay. This place is pretty isolated, nobody should be able to find us here." Here's the cabin, maybe a little smaller than advertised. He unlocks the door, flicks the light on. 

It doesn't work. They have to go around and unshutter the windows instead, although that's not as difficult as it could be. The cracks between the boards are letting in an awful lot of light. 

Once they can finally see the place, it's...dismal. One room. There's a set of double boards built into one wall, clearly intended as rudimentary bunks. A stove sulking by itself in the corner, next to a sink (oh thank god, there's running water at least). Something that looks horrifyingly like a hand-cranked generator. And that's it. 

Jack tries very hard not to think of their plushly luxurious ranch house, with all of Mac's sweet contrivances and Becky's taste in furniture and comfort generally. Hell, his old trailer had been cosier than this. 

"I am gonna kill that- estate agent." Before remembering that he'd vowed to stop saying things like that. 

"This looks like fun," Mac remarks, with the first smile he's had all day. "Fixer-upper, huh?"

_For heaven's sake, what have I got the two of us into?_


	4. Chapter 4

Observation: Jack Dalton gets twitchy sometimes. 

Observation: he always gets twitchy regarding topics he clearly doesn't like talking about, such as that stalker or what the precise details were with the amnesia incident, or what is going on with that whole bacon thing. (They've been leading very healthy lives lately, it would seem: vegetarian, teetotaler, no smoking. Hmm.)

Observation: he also gets twitchy talking about the heart attack, which Mac doesn't remember at all. Like everything else.

None of that is exactly evidence that he doesn't have a heart condition. Could just be subjects that make Jack anxious. But at least he has until Saturday to think about that. 

What's not so much observation as crying-out loud obvious, is that Jack's in way over his head. The poor guy's clearly woefully ill-equipped for coping with life on the run, though he's trying hard. Gets winded carrying firewood up the hill, cannot figure out how to fix the simplest things, falls asleep at random moments. 

Must be love after all. 

Did he reciprocate? Does he?

Presumably, and...good question. If he really loved the guy, it seems like the kind thing to do would be to take off. Have the confrontation with this stalker already (even if he lost it last time) and leave Jack alone in peace. 

But. Observation: the sex is pretty fantastic. 

Mac's strongly tempted to stick around just for that. 

***********

"Three weeks," Murdoc says, to an empty house. "Can I not take a three-week vacation without our arrangement collapsing in on itself?"

Fortunate that MacGyver's built that automatic plant-watering device, or the mint would be dead by now. Needs trimming though. He fetches a pair of scissors and attends to it. 

First question is which of them has put the other one up to it; that'll make rather a difference to how he starts looking. If it's MacGyver- actually, if it's MacGyver he might not be able to find them at all. His protege is practiced enough by now to disappear efficiently. 

Except that he can't think of any particular reason why the man should wish to do that; they'd parted on amicable enough terms. Whereas Jack Dalton...well, Dalton is pragmatic enough to have proposed their little threesome in the first place, but he'd always liked it the least. 

(Unlike MacGyver, whose capacity for affection is apparently boundless. Either giving or taking. It's probably his niece's fault.)

He wanders into the living room, takes advantage of the unusually empty sofa to stretch out. It can, in a pinch, accomodate one uncle and niece and pilot; but it certainly can't hold four, and he is invariably relegated to the stand-alone rocker. Which is typically just as well. The amount of casual cuddling that goes on in this place has always disconcerted him. 

Though it would be nice, to have been offered the option...

The obvious solution is to simply wait until Becky Grahme is back in LA. He can very likely exert enough pressure on her- one way or another- to at least arrange a meet-up with her uncle. If only for an explanation: the girl has a charmingly quaint sense of fair play. 

But that's months from now; and he isn't a patient man. 

Besides. MacGyver might just be needing him. 

Or, though it rather irks him to even think it, Dalton might.


	5. Chapter 5

_...okay, so maybe I thought about telling Mac he was a potato chip-happy beer-drinking couch potato, like me; but not for very long. It's such a ridiculously lucky chance, Becky. I'm not going to waste it._

_So what I've been trying to do is tell a story where he's the best possible version of himself. Sweet and brave and wonderful, like we remember. Not a killer. Somebody who'd never have run off with Murdoc, ever._

_Only it's harder work than I'd realised. For one-_

"For one thing," Jack says tiredly, resting his head against the journal. "It means I've got to live up to it too."

Mac's taken to this whole stupid proposition with unflagging enthusiasm. Chinking up the cabin so it isn't quite so stupidly cold at night, gathering firewood. He's busily fixing up some pine needle bedding for them or something now, a bit more comfortable than bare boards. 

No, Mac's happy. He's the one who's the weak link here. 

_For one- I don't think he trusts me yet, and I suppose that's only fair since I've been lying through my teeth the whole time. But it isn't the same easy-going camaraderie at all; he hasn't been properly chatty with me all week. Then too,_ _I'm starting to wonder if a really decent version of Mac would even have the time of day for me at all. In which case this whole enterprise is pretty pointless._

_And I could always just tell him the truth, any time; but the longer I don't do that, the worse it's going to be if I do. Having someone else fiddling around with your head, even for the best of reasons- if I'd sat down and really thought about this, I'd have realised it was the same kind of thing I always told off Murdoc for doing. But that DXS guy hurried me into it-_

_there I go, blaming somebody else for my mistake._

_I mean, seriously. You're the person on earth who loves him as much as I do, and I don't seem to be able to even explain it to you!_

_But the thing that's really unnerving me is the thought that this is probably all just excuse-making on my part, so I can go back to Texas and live in the lap of luxury again. Becky, you seriously have no idea how much I miss that plane of mine. The idea of being permanently grounded is starting to give me nightmares. And I want a drink in the worst way. And a bacon sandwich._

_See? Really petty stuff. I mean, you'd make a sacrifice like this. So would Mac. I should be able to do this, I love him enough._

_Maybe that's the problem._

_I love him just as much as ever; and I'm scared he doesn't love me anymore._


	6. Chapter 6

Three weeks in, and the part where he was worrying about whether Mac loved him was needlessly borrowing trouble. In the strictly physical sense, at least.

He's dealing with a stupidly active guy, who still doesn't trust him enough for casual conversation but doesn't have any other social outlets. The closest town is forty minutes down an unpaved road; Mac seems perfectly content to ignore the place. And Colorado mountains aren't as bad as Minnesota, but more than cold enough for the two of them to share a bedroll every night.

Equals: a hell of a lot of sex. Not something Jack would have thought he could get this tired of, but he's already exhausted just trying to keep up with Mac during the day. (Why had he told Mac he'd been trying to take up running? Why had that ever sounded like a good idea?) And the modest DXS stipend just barely covers their living expenses (god help them when something goes wrong, and given Mac's luck it probably will). He hasn't been on a diet this strict since that misbegotten three months in Wisconsin.

And when left to his own devices (Jack doesn't exactly feel comfortable taking the initiative, not when he holds the cards on everything else)...left to himself, Mac's idea of sex is depressingly vanilla. There were points in their lives when they would have been glad enough just for that; but with his well-heeled experience and a year of Murdoc's entertainingly spicy opinions on the subject, the way things are going now is just a trifle flat.

To the point that he's starting to recall Murdoc rather fondly, while Mac's busy thumping him.

_ Jack Dalton. This is exactly how you fell in love with Mac in the first place, fantasising about him while you got it on with- who the heck was it, Zoe? Probably Zoe. Wonder where she is now... _

Mac really deserves better than to have his partner thinking about somebody else entirely; but sheesh. Some days it'd either be that or not being able to manage at all.

**************

"How do you think of these things?" Jack asks him, staring at the perfectly folded birchbark cup. By way of apology, for using their mess kit cup to patch up the stove.

Mac finds himself shrugging. "Just sort of- sings to me, I guess."

The patterns that tell him how to make things, the singing, it's all mixed up in his head with bits of knowledge he can't remember acquiring, and his blue-eyed muse of a niece. Pretty much everything he needs to know he still does, if he listens for it and doesn't think too hard. And it's easy to listen here. Very quiet. 

He ought to be thinking. He ought to be giving this whole weird scenario a lot of deep and careful consideration; but point of fact, he just doesn't want to. This whole month he's been running on pure instinct, making and mending. Outdoor life clearly suits him. 

Rising with the sun. A nice early morning jog with his lover to get the blood pumping, before breakfast. Slow-cooked oatmeal or maybe pancakes, with buckwheat and powdered egg. Then the morning set aside for housekeeping- the cabin's looking more lived-in now, if no more elegant. A row of pegs to hang things on, some log tables, an old shirt that he's stitched into a comfy cushion (for Jack's benefit. Also his own, since apparently he's the favourite pillow-substitute whenever Jack doesn't have one to fall asleep on.)  

They really need a lot more stuff. A better saw, and an axe, and a grindstone for his SAK, and plenty else to get this place ready for winter; but that means seeing other people again. Up to now he's been content with just the one. And he hasn't given up hope of finding the stuff on the cheap yet, since their cash is so tight. (Jack had gone distinctly pale when he'd suggested using a dollar bill to light a fire, their first wet afternoon here. Not a good look on his features.)

So afternoons, he ranges the surrounding woods. Learning the lay of the land, picking up bits of useful rubbish from the nearby hiking trails. (He can't think why anyone would have thrown out a whole tarp, or a slightly over-loved tea kettle). Where the closest river is, and a lake that sees fishermen. 

Then back home again, to cook dinner and enjoy a cuddle by the stove. It's very idyllic. No worries, no pain, no guilt. A good life.

Almost no guilt, anyway...

**********

"This looks stupid," Mac says, squatting on his heels to examine his reflection in the car mirror. "My hair's coming in grey, it's clashing with this blonde. Was I really the kind of guy who went in for hair dye, or was it supposed to be a disguise?"

"Mostly the former," Jack says fondly. "I think. I never really wanted to ask."

"Uh-huh. You weren't the leader of our tag-team, were you? Back when I was in my right mind."

"You are in your right mind," Jack argues. "You just can't reach everything in it, is all."

"Stop ducking the point."

Jack sighs. "Yeah. Yeah, you were, and I miss that. Miss it a lot. But I'm doing the best I can...and I had a pretty good teacher, don't forget."

"Kind of wish I knew him," Mac says; they've fallen into a weird habit of discussing past him as though he was a completely different person. Maybe that's true. "Seriously, this has got to come off. If I bind it back, can you chop it short with my knife?"

"It's gonna look pretty untidy, that way."

"Never mind. It'll be easier for moving through bush."

**********

Every word of what Mac's been saying is sensible enough. It's just that he's reaching a conclusion he never would have, once- but that was the whole point of this, wasn't it?

So they cut his hair short- not all the way off, just short- and he looks sort of distinguished and important (a lot more like a soldier than before, ironically enough). And Jack finds he doesn’t have half as much fun running his hands through a shorter mop, though at least it remains as unruly as ever. 

He tapes a blonde lock to the inside of his Becky journal, just for sentiment. It's fake and past and unnecessary, and it gives him a lump in his throat to look at; but he keeps it anyway.


	7. Chapter 7

Murdoc traces the pair as far as the DXS case files, confirming to his own satisfaction that there's still an assigned agent, and even a tracker to keep an eye on them. Stops short of learning where that tracker is now.

This is not going to be an easy task. Maybe the most difficult he's ever tackled, in fact.

Doing absolutely nothing whatsoever. 

He acquires a cat for the ranch to keep him company. Dubs it Puss. He disapproves of elaborate names for cats. 

The two hens gang up on her almost immediately, so that’s the pecking order established. 

**********

The storm outside rages insanely; but Jack’s safe in his plane. Clever and practiced, more than able to take whatever the skies throw at them. At him- he knows exactly how his craft ought to veer and swoop, guides her through the chaos to safe harbour. 

The dream trails off into a gentle, peaceful descent. He’s just awake enough to want all he can get, hangs on as long as possible. It's not long enough. It never is. 

The one thing he's really good at, the only passion that rivals his love for Mac...what'd he tell Becky once, about not throwing over her dreams for somebody else? He ought to have listened to his own advice. 

_Mac's worth a fit of homesickness, you big oaf._

If it was just a fit, instead of a perpetual craving- 

**********

"Mac. Medicine time, you'd better have something to go with it."

"You always stare at me whenever I'm eating anything," MacGyver says, grabbing the last pancake from their hot plate. (A plate atop the stove with a board on it, ha ha. He hasn't entirely lost his sense of humour, even if he has to be his own audience sometimes- dammit, he never used to wonder whether Mac would understand a joke or not, only if he’d laugh.) "What's the matter, you hungry or something?"

Jack flushes and turns away. He never really knows what's going to set Mac off these days. 

"Lemme know when you're decent, then." 

"Calm down," Mac says, deliberately lengthening that lazy Midwest drawl. "Not like we've got too much modesty left anyway, after a month in here."

"And yet I'm still not tired of staring at you." 

MacGyver comes round to indulge that wish with a playful cuddle. "But you practically lick the bowl after meals. How about I rig up some fishing tackle? I've salvaged a box of hooks, and there's some line in the woodshed-"

"No!" Jack says, in alarm. "No no no, don't do that."

Becky's told him how this story goes. No way is he letting Mac go down that road again; there's a reason he's insisted so strenuously that neither of them touch meat. 

"Geez. What's so awful about catching a few trout? Or bass, maybe-"

"Allergies. Pretty horrific, too."

Mac's starting to look put out, if not for the right reasons. "Why didn't you say so? Suppose I’d taken it into my head to go fishing without mentioning it to you first?"

“I’m the one with the allergy,” Jack improvises hastily. “You haven’t been feeding me fish without saying so, have you?”

“No. Huh,” Mac says. “Anything else you’re allergic to?”

“Worrywarts. Oh, and ginger. It-”

_It annoyed Murdoc so much, when he had to change his Christmas cake recipe. Though I thought the one he whipped up as a substitute was just fine._

_I’m in serious danger of remembering a trained assassin as a nice guy._

“-wasn’t pretty.’

“Good to know. Then if I’m not spending the afternoon fishing, shall we just stay in?” Mac asks, gently nuzzling his ear. 

It is with a certain dawning horror that Jack Dalton realises just how much he does not, in fact, want to spend an entire afternoon in Angus MacGyver’s embrace. Especially if the alternative involved, say, a hot coconut-scented bubble bath. And a country-fried steak, and a deliciously long sleep on an actual mattress. 

Except that he’s not getting any of those, so he might as well just make the best of things. 

“Oh, c’mon then.” 

_Geez, Becky. The things I’ll do to keep your uncle safe..._


	8. Chapter 8

Mac spends a long time awake that night, while his lover's comatose and snoring. Thinking about their future together. 

Maybe Jack isn’t the most trustworthy sort; but the guy’s basically decent. He probably isn't. 

He'd hiked down to the town library yesterday (why not? Only three hours each way). Checked a few things- his symptoms don't match any recognised patterns for amnesia. The memories are far too precise in some ways, blurred in others. Targeted. Incomprehensible and improbable, for him to be left entirely himself except for the important parts. 

He might just be an unusual case, of course; but there's this weirdness about the stalker. The fake name on their car's registration, the hidden camera he'd noticed in the cabin. Very cunningly disguised, except to a searcher determined to salvage and repurpose anything he can find. (Though he'd left that well alone.) A certain gut feeling that Jack's just not safe, unless he's around. Coming home, he'd made that three hours walk in two.

Something on the down low, something top secret. A criminal's second chance, or a trauma victim? Hard-core reprogramming, hypnosis or something: that'd explain the need for isolation. He keeps coming back to the idea that maybe Jack rescued him. Fell in love with him, pulled him out of something bad. Tried to redeem him. 

Too bad he can't be the person Jack wants him to be. 

Whoever that is. 

***********

Sunday morning, MacGyver's whipping up the last of their powdered egg into a mushroom omelette. "I think we should get a chicken.”

"We'd have to have somewhere to put a chicken," Jack points out. "Where it wouldn't freeze. Plus we'd have to feed it in winter time, and I'm too old for egg hunting."

"I'm not," Mac says, brightly. "Bet I could rig something up. Fit an extension onto the woodshed, maybe."

"Do you have any actual memories of having looked after a chicken, at any stage?"

Mac considers. "Sorta? Sorta."

"Let's give it a miss, then." Jack’s not actually much on chickens, even if he puts up with the hens at the range. Plenty of space for them to squawk out there, and they more or less look after themselves in a warm climate. 

He has got to stop thinking like they'll be going home, one of these days. They're out here for good. And some fresh eggs would be nice- oh, for fuck's sake. This is Minnesota all over again: first time tragedy, second time self-inflicted farce. No wonder he's having so much trouble taking this seriously. 

He tries to comfort himself with the thought that there'll be people alive now who otherwise wouldn't have been, and just how awful he'd feel if someone took Mac away from him like that. Or Mur- no. 

Just no. 

"I'll have a word with that Dell guy who runs the gas station down the way," Mac says, as he pulls up a loose floorboard. Pulls out two brightly wrapped packages. "These ought to do it. He's trying to get me to pay cash for his old laundry wrangle, but I think I can talk him down to barter. Guy's got a sweet tooth."

 _Yeah_ , Jack thinks, _and so do I, and that was supposed to be my secret cache for when I wake up frantic for a midnight snack._ "A wrangle?"

"Well, we're gonna need one for wintertime. Can't keep the clothesline outside then, so we'll have to hang it up in here. You'll survive without your cookies."

He'd love to tell himself he’s imagining that light-hearted scorn in Mac's voice. "They're biscuits. Chocolate-covered digestive biscuits, it's an English thing."

"Whatever.”

Now that was definitely scorn. 

***********

Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday, it rains; and MacGyver spends the three days hibernating, tucked up in the warmest corner. Jack had been wondering how the guy’s occasional lazy fit would manifest, when he got around to having one. Slightly more inclined towards conversation than he has been, which is something. Maybe winter won't be so absymal after all.

Thursday he drags Jack out on an extended edition of their morning run (“c’mon, you must be just as sick of that cabin as I am”). Takes off on his own afterwards, doesn’t get back until midnight. An overreaction to enforced boredom, Jack tells himself, and spends half the day fretting. 

Friday Mac lets him sleep in, which is nice right up to the point that he suggests a library expedition. 

“Sure thing. I’ll get the car keys-”

“Aw, we don’t want to drive on a nice day like this. We’ll hike down, it’ll do you good.”

“Y’know. You weren’t a drill sergeant in your previous life.”

Mac smiles. “Maybe I should have been.”

So they walk all the way down to the library, and while he appreciates the air conditioning, Mac nicks his emergency fund to buy a pile of books. Including a bag of discarded chemistry textbooks. Really, really heavy chemistry textbooks. 

“You paid twenty dollars for this lot? Don't expect me to carry them home.”

“Fine, I’ll take ‘em. Don’t look so glum.”

“I did mention the concept of a budget, right? One we need to stick to pretty strictly?”

“And I’ve spent a month,” Mac says, “in a house with no books in it whatsoever. I think you ought to have realised before I did, that was never going to be a sustainable situation.”

Come to think of it, he should have. 

He also ought to be exhausted enough to sleep through an earthquake, after a day this long; but between one thing and another and being in a certain amount of pain and fretting about what happens if MacGyver gets around to remembering that he used to own a whole library’s worth of books, Jack has a white night. This looking after someone dependent on him thing is pure hell. No wonder Mac panicked so hard when Becky showed up.

Round dawn, he finally nods off; and wakes up what feels like ten minutes later. Somebody upwind of their cabin is frying bacon. 

Christ. He has an awful feeling that the minute Mac lugs him outside for their morning jog, he's just gonna hightail it to somebody's campsite and fork over ten dollars for a sandwich. Okay, five. If he showed up with a pack and the right kind of attitude, hungry hiker who got lost, he could definitely spin out a convincing enough story to pull it off. Not even a con, really.

“Oh, this is going to be a gorgeous day,” Mac breathes, gazing out the window. “Windless, blue skies, just perfect. C’mon, let’s go out and enjoy it already.”

“No.”

“Whaddya mean, no?”

“I mean,” Jack says, a bit faintly, “that I’m going to stay right here, and try to catch up on some of the sleep I missed, because I had a rotten night and I’m an absolute wreck. Don’t even bother to ask. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You coming down with something?” Mac’s actually looking concerned, which he doesn’t much these days. 

“A terminal case of righteous living,” he snaps, before stealing all the blankets. 

(Hey, it’s not like Mac’s going to be using them.)

***********

Jack wakes up a while later, feeling at least half-rested and a lot less headachy. Maybe virtue is its own reward, after all. Still smells like bacon, but he’s feeling perky enough to ignore that. 

One at a time. As long as he sticks to resisting one temptation at a time, instead of thinking about how many others he’ll have to get through, maybe he can do this. He throws off the bedclothes, to find Mac mending his jacket. (Another casualty of the library hike.) 

Also. One hot dog roll, with a lot of soft, still-warm bacon jammed in the middle. 

“Where’d this come from?”

“I stole it,” MacGyver says, looking rather pleased with himself. “Thought you looked a little woozy- anyway, it’ll teach those campers not to leave food lying around. Suppose I’d been a bear? That wouldn’t have been pretty.”

“This,” Jack mumbles, tucking in with unabashed enthusiasm, “has been a complete and utter waste of a summer.”

Maybe Becky could have done it properly, with her unbiased devotion and greater indifference to creature comforts. Maybe he could have, if only he’d tried harder. Or had a slightly less inconvenient place to attempt it. 

Maybe, possibly, Angus MacGyver is just basically bent, and trying to reform him into better behaviour was never gonna work anyway. 

He doesn’t really care at this point. This is a hell of a nice sandwich. 

“You good now?” Mac asks when he’s done. 

“No,” Jack says, thoughtfully. “No. I’m still starving, and I have had it up to here with roughing it, and you know what? We’re going to drive down to town- not walk, drive- and I’m gonna get in touch with your stalker again so we can go home already. I think you’ll recover a lot faster in familiar surroundings, anyway.” Especially since he’s gonna throw out that bottle of pills, pronto. 

“Jack...maybe I don’t know you all that well, but- I do love you,” MacGyver says unhappily. “You’re worth fighting for. Look, is he gonna make you do anything you don’t want to?”

Jack sighs. “You know what, he won't? I know it sounds weird, but that’s been exactly the problem...”


	9. Chapter 9

Jack calls the ranch collect, from the town’s only coffee shop. They haven't got enough cash to fly out, and the mere idea of taking days to get back by bus gives him nausea. He just wants to be home already.

With a good night's sleep and a couple of decent meals in him, before he has to explain to MacGyver what exactly happened to him this summer. That is not going to be a fun conversation. 

Murdoc picks up at the first ring. "Speaking."

"Hey. Uh, it's Jack. Mac and I are stuck in Colorado, we need a rescue." 

"You're- excuse me, where?" Smooth and crisp and professional, and he's ready to collapse with gratitude. No doubt there's gonna be repercussions, later; but just now Murdoc's all business. 

"Colorado. There's a DXS timeshare, do you know where it is?" 

He should have remembered to check what the town's called; or failing that, just remembered the name already. That's a slightly perturbing level of doziness even by his standards. 

"The DXS timeshare," Murdoc repeats, in strangulated tones. "Of course I know. If you're running the show, I can imagine you'd have ended up there - where's MacGyver?"

"Right here. Though he's not going to know who you are, the DXS fed him some memory suppressants."

"And you've been looking after a brain-damaged assassin for a month? Why didn't you call me?"

The whole drive here, he's been thinking very hard about how to answer that question. "Because I'm an idiot."

"Ah." A thoroughly noncommittal sound. 

Jack starts worrying that that's going to be the last thing Murdoc says. That maybe the assassin's gonna just say, good riddance, and leave him and Mac stuck here-

"Well? Put MacGyver on the line already."

"Oh! Right."

He hands the phone over to a very perplexed Mac, who says yes and no and hmm a lot before giving a brief description of his symptoms. And coordinates for the nearby landing field. 

"Gimmie that," Jack says, grabbing the phone. "You're flying my plane up here?"

"Is there a reason I shouldn't? Barring my lack of a pilot's license, but assuming you trust me with her- yes, I was planning to."

Only a couple of hours, then. He'll be back in a cockpit before the day's out. 

"Right now," Jack says rapturously. "I could kiss you."

There's a harrumph at the other end of the line. "As the saying goes- hold that thought?"

**************

They spend what seems like forever in the cafe. Mac buries himself in twelfth-grade chemistry, and avoids looking at his surroundings (he’s clearly disconcerted, and just as clearly can’t figure out why). Jack doodles fuel-ratio formulas on napkins and nurses a succession of teas. Cheapest thing on the menu, and he doesn't want to have spent all their money, if Murdoc never gets here. Always be ready for the worst- 

the worst shows up about an hour in, in the shape of a very nervous kid wearing an ill-fitting suit and bolo tie.

Making a joke about him would be shooting fish in a tuna fish can. Jack restrains himself. 

"Mr Dalton? Could I have a word with you, please? Confidentially."

'Not happening," MacGyver says abruptly, and Jack feels a warm rush of joyous relief. That almost sounded like his Mac. "Not without me, anyway."

"What's it about?" Jack inquires. 

"Official DXS business. If you'd be so good...we can talk in my car, outside."

"Sounds like a good way to kidnap someone," MacGyver argues, laying a protective hand on Jack's shoulder. "Think of some way to have this conversation without putting him in danger, okay?"

The kid scratches his head. "Weren't you supposed to be the one with the amnesia?"

"Mac, cool it." He does not know what a memory-compromised MacGyver is capable of doing to someone, and for that matter he's not sure Mac does. "Look, this is a biggish cafe. We'll sit over here, you go sit over there by the door so he can't take off with me, that way we can all be happy."

"It's not very secure," the kid says doubtfully. 

Jack shrugs. "They do it on TV shows all the time, don't they?"

************

"See, Director Gant thought this might happen," the kid says, once Mac's taken himself off (with a highly mistrustful look). He still hasn't introduced himself. Good trick, that.

"So the local phone booth was tapped, just on the off-chance...and you did call Murdoc, so he must have had the right idea. Anyway- I'm supposed to observe the meeting, see whether you're intending to live up to the bargain or not. And if Murdoc's trying to pull MacGyver back into the game, I'm supposed to kill him. Murdoc, that is. Director Gant's not very much worried about MacGyver, as long as he's still on the amnesia pills."

Jack stares at him. "You're barely shaving. Murdoc's a professional. He'll have you turned inside out and strewn on the sidewalk before you've so much as touched your gun."

The kid lets himself look a little freaked. "Call of duy, though. At least I'll have done my best."

"What you're saying is, either you're dead at the end of the day or he is? How the hell does that help anyone?"

"I don't make the rules," the kid says, in a placating tone. "I mean, if Murdoc was just coming by to say his farewells, that'd be one thing, I could stay an independent observer. But if he's hoping to recruit MacGyver for the Game again, well..."

Jack swears, in a couple of languages he doesn't understand but which have comfortingly violent consonants. "So we're playing emotional chicken here. Either I tell Murdoc to get the hell out and leave us alone, or you guys have a gunfight."

"And probably I die," the kid says. "Yeah, well...it's only what's going to happen to a lot of other people if I fail, isn't it? I'm not suicidal, but I'm here to do my best, and if that means going up against Murdoc alone, so be it."

"You cannot possibly be for real," Jack says, and closes his eyes. 

He can't let this kid die. He can't let this kid kill Murdoc either, though the odds of that are considerably less likely. 

"Murdoc's coming in all this way in to take us home, and I was supposed to fly my plane back, and..." 

He trails off. There is no way to describe this situation that does not make him sound utterly pathetic, and he's feeling low enough already. 

"I always heard you were supposed to be a good conman," the kid remarks. "I'd love to know if that's true. Cos that might be the only thing standing between me and my coffin, today."

This Director Gant, whoever he is, Jack decides, is a right bastard. A judiciously efficient button-pusher who knows exactly how to manipulate people, but a right bastard nonetheless. 

"When you get back to the DXS...will you tell Becky Grahme something for me?"

"Sure. Anything."

"I think I owe her one."

His all-but-blood niece would be brave enough to try to save everybody's life, in this mess. 

And damned if he won’t at least try to do as good. 

*************

"Hey. Hey, wake up. Murdoc's here."

MacGyver's shaking him. Jack pries himself off the table, winces as he rubs the arm he fell asleep on. 

"He'll probably want to talk to you first, but after that, go over to the seat by the door again. I might be saying things I don't want you to overhear."

"I'm not liking the sound of this," Mac says, glancing at the next table. The kid's drinking a latte and looking completely inconspicuous. "When are you going to explain what's going on?"

"Probably when we drive back to the cabin." 

"But I thought-"

"Change of plan," Jack cuts off. "Go talk to him, but the second he asks what our plans are, tell him to talk to me. If he wants to kiss you, let 'im." 

"Not unless I want to," Mac says dubiously.

Mac goes over, has a short chat in which there is visibly no kissing, before Murdoc comes over. Starts staring at him. 

Deja vu. This is altogether too much like sitting for an exam he'd forgotten to study for. 

"Hey, then."

"What has MacGyver been doing to you?" Murdoc demands without preamble. "Overtired, underfed- I knew the man had a sadistic streak, but I never expected him to take it out on you. Or is this a part of your relationship that I haven't been made privy to, yet?"

"Not like that," Jack says, making himself not yell it. He ought to be relaxed and cheerful, give off the impression of his usual carefree manner. 

He's never actually had to work at that before. Better not screw this up. 

"Mac got a bump on the head and came down with amnesia, the DXS checked him out and passed him clear, and offered me a deal to keep him actually safe. So we're fine. Perfectly happy."

"Then what did I just fly your plane all the way from Texas for, might I ask?"

Do not, Jack orders himself, run out and throw yourself at that plane right this minute. Definitely do not do that. "I- got to feeling guilty about leaving you in suspense all this time. And maybe I had a wobble because I missed you too, if I’m being honest. But these days Mac's isn't killing anyone, and he's happy, so..."

"And perhaps he is, but you clearly aren't. And drinking cheap American tea," Murdoc says, plucking a cold teabag out of a cup with distaste. "I'll go and order you something drinkable."

"No," Jack says quickly. "You shouldn't be doing us favours, if we aren't coming back."

"For my benefit. I can't carry on a civilised conversation while you're forcing yourself to consume that atrocity," Murdoc says, tipping the remainder of the tea into a rubber plant pot. "Take a few minutes to think up some better lies, Dalton."

He tries. Mostly he just wants to go back to sleep again.

Murdoc comes back with hot chocolate. A little gritty and too sweet- not up to Mac's standard. Something Jack notices in an abstract sort of way, while forcing himself not to chug down the whole thing in one grateful gulp. 

"So. If you two have a new set of living arrangements, tell me all the details.”

“Why?”

“Because MacGyver has picked up a number of inconvenient enemies while working with me, and I assume he’s lacking all the tradecraft that I taught him to cope with that. I need to know whether the DXS has made the sort of arrangements I’d deem necessary to keep him safe. Either by asking you or checking myself.”

“Pretty safe, I think. We’re living in their cabin, up the mountain.”

“You mean…you and MacGyver have actually been living in the- you call it a timeshare? The DXS honeypot, as everyone else calls it,” Murdoc says, and dissolves into laughter. 

Not, like, his creepy theatrical laugh. Just somebody so overcome by hilarity that they're temporarily unable to stop giggling.

"Uh?"

"Oh, it's a famous place," Murdoc says, when he's finally calmed down. “Dear me. If MacGyver were still as embarrassed about his taste in men as when we first met, that'd drive him straight back to Minnesota…you two have undoubtedly made some bored intern's summer, while they're trying to sift through the surveillance footage for usable information.”

"I checked for bugs! There weren’t any!"

"You. I’m sorry, you checked for bugs, and you thought that was sufficient…” Murdoc’s clearly struggling to maintain his composure. “I apologise. I do recognise I’m being more than unusually inconsiderate- but you didn't even consider calling me in? To see if there was, perhaps, a little more to it than met the eye?”

“No. I mean, it was such a hellhole- basically just four walls, until Mac started fixing it up.”

"Well, that was rather the appeal. A place to bring people that was so desolate and bare-bones, nobody could imagine they were being spied on there. Until it became so notorious that they couldn't use it again. Except of course, for you…” He starts laughing again. “I am sorry. You'll simply have to accept that I'm temporarily devoid of manners."

Jack buries his face in his hands. 

"I mean, Becky works there now. I trusted 'em."

"There is that. The DXS being about the only intelligence group in the business I'd consider a good fit for her, they're too much a set of laughingstocks for anyone to take them seriously. But you were putting all your faith in them for protection? Dalton, did you ever stop and think about how the ranch stays safe?"

"Huh?"

"It takes bribes," Murdoc says, flicking his thumb and forefinger together. "Bribes, and persuasion in the right quarters, and letting it get around that killing a certain set of people would be more trouble than it's worth. I had to acquire the skillset from rather a young age, looking after Ashton, and I still spent a month trying to convince MacGyver that a permanent base was a disastrous idea. But he insisted that he wanted it and so did you, so I've gone to a deal of trouble keeping the place secure…did he ever tell you about that attempt on your life at the Dirty Dog?"

"What?"

"I thought not. MacGyver thought it would worry you, if you couldn't walk into your favourite saloon without having to worry about being shot- and as it happens, you don't. That's what I'm there for. But I can’t protect either of you if I’m not in the picture.” 

"So you're saying that Mac won't be safe, if we stay here?"

"Oh for heaven’s sake, don't just trust my bare unsupported word! I'm a highly biased onlooker with my own agenda, and every reason to be leading you astray. Dalton, I'd have given you more credit than this. Or did you have a bump on the head as well?” 

He's starting to feel dizzy. "You mean that- were you lying to me just now?"

"Parts of it. Your attempted assassination, yes, that never happened. The DXS honeypot is true enough-" and Murdoc goes off on yet another long outburst of laughter. 

Jack watches him with weary annoyance. 

“Look. If you’re gonna tell me that this is too dangerous for me to handle, just say so already.”

“In all honesty,” Murdoc says. “You two are probably safe enough. Nobody in their right mind would believe that my death trap-dealing protege would have come to such a ridiculous end, I’ll have to give Gant credit for that. But do let me know if you want to go anywhere else. Trips to LA to meet up with a certain niece, that type of thing.”

“In other words, we’re not getting rid of you.”

“MacGyver’s made a number of life choices that have- certain consequences. You can forgive and he can forget, but the world won’t do either. I assure you, I’ll be around.”

“But not to get him into anything dangerous, right?” Jack holds his breath. 

“Not while he’s suffering from this mysterious bump on the head,” Murdoc says dryly. “Too much of a risk. No, I’ll leave you two to suffer your clean living in peace- Dalton, you’re a habitual pleasure-seeker, with the personal morals and yen for comfort of an overly pampered housecat. What on earth are you getting out of this extended camping trip?”

“Looking after Mac,” Jack says, stoutly. 

“Hmm,” Murdoc says, as he rises. “So tell me. Just when are you going to break?”

"That's a loaded question!"

"But not an irrelevant one, clearly.”

And then slips out to the door and is gone, before Jack’s even realises he’s failed to come up with a convincing comeback. 

“Wow,” the kid breathes. “That was brave of you.”

“If you say one more word, I’m gonna go chase that man down and beg him to take me home on my knees,” Jack threatens. “Get out of here and stop bothering me already.”

The kid does so. Respectfully. 

Jack puts his head back and drifts, dozily. Maybe something will happen- maybe Murdoc will kidnap Mac later tonight, maybe someone's gonna kill someone. If it does, it does. He's too tired to deal with anything more happening today. 

He feels rather than sees Mac's return, a warm hand holding his. Least he's still got that to cheer him up. Always. 

A plane engine out there starts warming up, one he recognises immediately as his own, and he knows this is the point where he can allow himself to slump at last. Rest his head against Mac's shoulder, feeling drained. 

And unromantically hungry. Dammit, it hadn't even occurred to him to ask Murdoc for some spending money. Of all times for Mac to start rubbing off on him- he's never been the kind of person to let pride get in the way of a full stomach. 

Well. Apparently he is now. 

"So what did Murdoc have to say to you?"

"That if we ever wanted to come home, just to let him know."

"Mmm," Jack says, struggling to muster up one last effort. "That's not happening-"

Someone taps him on the shoulder. 

"It was a very brave attempt, and if I was a do-gooder type, I'd have respected that and left you alone. Unfortunately, I'm not the sort to respect people's decisions when they're stupid ones," Murdoc says. "Now are you flying that plane back to Texas, or am I?"

Jack stares at him in bewilderment. 

Mac hugs him. "I said I thought that time was probably now. You know, I like you. I don't want you to be miserable."

"I have been trying so hard," Jack says weakly, "to do the right thing. Turn over a new leaf."

This isn't heroic of him. 

This is completely cowardly, the opposite of what all the storybooks say people should be like. Not what he ought to be doing at all. 

But it's exactly the sort of thing he would do, and it's unbelievably wonderful to stop pretending to be an angel and start being ridiculous and cocksure and amoral Jack Dalton again. 

"...the answer to your question, Murdoc, is in about four minutes. As soon as I've paid for a sandwich for me to have while I'm piloting."

"You're going to fly a plane eating a sandwich," MacGyver says, with terror in his voice. 

"Sure I am! You wouldn’t believe the tricks I’ve pulled- oh my god," Jack says. "You don't even remember being in a plane. Mac, it's amazing! You're just gonna love it. Trust me."

Murdoc casts an amused glance over the pair of them. 

Amnesia, bah. Dalton's too busy babbling to notice; but the expression on MacGyver’s face is decidedly not that of somebody who's afraid of an airplane, because he doesn't know what to expect. 

It looks rather more like somebody who remembers far too well.


	10. Chapter 10

“Remember,” Gant says, to his crestfallen agent. “The main point to all of this was to keep the three of them distracted during Becky’s training. That part’s gone well enough. And we’ve even had the honeypot renovated into the bargain.”

There’s an open package on the table, containing a bottle of pills and an enclosed note. 

_Hey,_

_Next time you guys are fixing up a trap, be sure you’re making it for the right guy, huh? Cos Mac loved it, but if there'd been a plane and a beach house and a couple other niceties like that, I might have used up all of these instead of just a month’s worth._

_Better luck next time,_

_Jack Dalton_

"Which we couldn't have paid for anyway," Gant says. “All's well that ends well."

"But I was sure this would work- from the hints Rebecca’s dropped, it should have been the perfect happy ending to their love story. She made Dalton sound like a romantic, not…not a mercenary slob.”

"O'Neil, you've been teaching her for a month and still haven’t noticed that she prefers to go by Becky. Your emotional awareness does leave something to be desired."

"...she does?"

_*************_

"That looks good,” MacGyver says. He’s whittling, and watching while Murdoc removes a rice pudding from the oven. "Although, isn't brunch a little early? I remember the last time Jack asked for one of these in the morning, you said no and gave him a lecture about the proper time of day to eat like fifteen different English desserts."

"Start from an unreasonable bargaining position, and allow yourself to be worked down slowly," Murdoc says. "I don't actually care in the least, but he'll have the notion I'm doing him an astonishing favour. And after the summer he's had...well, this seems like the right psychological moment to attempt improving our relationship with some blatant favouritism. Don't think you're getting any of this."

"Oh, that's not fair. I'm the one who's spent a month drugged out of my mind."

"And an entirely incompetent performance it was, too," Murdoc says, thoroughly unsympathetic. "How long was it before you stopped taking the amnesia pills?"

"Only last week," MacGyver says, a little rueful. "I mean, I really was having the time of my life out there- that shack needed fixing up but bad. I could probably have spent the next ten years making it habitable."

"Is that why you stayed on?"

"I stayed on because I needed to know what was going on with Jack. I'll be honest, for a couple days I was completely besotted with what a sweet thing he was doing. Giving up everything he likes on my behalf…I mean, there he is, lonely and unhappy and ridiculously brave, all for me. For a couple of days it was heaven- and then heaven got boring," MacGyver confesses. "Cos I really wouldn't have thought Jack could do anything to make me fall out of love with him, but he was getting awfully close. It takes all the fun out of living with him when he's that miserable. I ended up having to force the issue."

"With a bacon sandwich?"

"With a bacon sandwich. And it was such a nuisance setting that up- I thought he was never going to fall asleep that night. But he was so hellbent on sticking to his plan, for a while there I honestly thought I'd have to just go along with things. I didn't want to do that. Not with you to think of."

"I never entirely trusted Jack's promises in the first place," Murdoc observes. "Although one of you was going to have to come back eventually. You left your guitar in the library."

"I'm looking forward to tuning that up again," MacGyver agrees. "Though I could have- I dunno, sent an anonymous goon to fetch it or something."

"And trust an anonymous goon with your prized guitar? Unlikely in the extreme, my dear MacGyver."

"Anyway, it won't happen again. I'm not letting anyone split us up now, not even Jack. Especially if he can't even fix up a getaway that makes him happy."

"Sheer cupboard love is all it is," Murdoc says. "Which is why I've been practicing by looking after a cat- that is, cupboard love and airplanes. If the DXS had had enough sense to give Dalton anything that could get off the ground, I'll warrant I wouldn't have seen the two of you until doomsday."

"Glad they lived down to their reputation, then," MacGyver says. "I mean...I do love you, but let's face it, we're too similar, and left to our own devices we'd kill each other. Somebody in this house needs to damp down the tension once in a while, and he's very good at that."

"Too similar? I beg to differ." 

"Who is?" Jack asks, breezing in with a cheerfully sweaty air. "Mac, I was right. Mid-morning runs work a lot better for me, especially when you aren't along to be annoyed with how slow I'm going."

"Oh, here we go again," MacGyver says with a sigh. "Three syllables, Jack, not one. Is that so hard?"

"Sometimes. Yup."

"There's rice pudding for you," Murdoc offers. "I thought I'd make that first, before we get started preparing the actual brunch."

"You know… that's really nice, but honestly, I don't ignore you all the time. We can have it after dinner like you insisted." 

"You've been on a run without my prompting, and now you're turning down dessert? Murdoc, what's this imposter done with my Jack Dalton?"

"I've got plans," Jack says happily. "Date with a bubble bath, I’ll be about an hour or so. See you later."

"I'll agree, that was a reassuring ending to an otherwise alarming turn of events," Murdoc says afterwards, as he starts thumping bread dough. (Violently, naturally.) "I find it irritating when people undergo sudden changes of heart. It makes them unpredictable.”

“From his point of view, that’s exactly what I did,” MacGyver says. “Guess that’s why I haven’t yelled at him more. There was every reason in the world for him not to come back to me, but he did anyway…and he’s stayed, too. In spite of my being a murderous lunatic who’s half in love with somebody else, I can’t blame him for wanting things back the way they were.”

“Oh, did you want to try it again? Under more comfortable conditions this time?”

“No way! It’s one thing for Jack to try and screw it up, but anyone else pulling this stunt, I wouldn’t answer for the consequences. And frankly, Murdoc, that includes you.”

“A strictly theoretical question, I should hope. Believe me, MacGyver, you’re far more entertaining as you are.”

“That a pick-up line or something?”

“Not particularly, no. Whatever gave you the impression that it was?”

“Nothing whatsoever,” MacGyver agrees. “Except that I have missed you. And maybe I want you all to myself, for a little while?”

“My dear troubleshooter. You really only had to ask.”

************

_one blissful half-hour later_

" _Angus MacGyver_!"

He jolts backwards in alarm; Murdoc lets go of him, for fight or flight. 

Jack storms into the bedroom, soaking wet from the bath, with water dripping off his robe. What an adorably murderous ball of rage, Murdoc thinks. 

MacGyver takes one look at him and takes a running jump for the top of the dresser. 

"Guilty conscience, huh? I'm not surprised!"

"Jack, come off it! What'd I do?"

"You know perfectly well!" Jack roars. "I never told you who Murdoc was, I went to a lot of trouble about that, but you remembered his name before I told you! How long were you gonna let me go on making an idiot of myself? I'm gonna throttle you!"

"You'll have to get up here first," MacGyver points out, breathlessly. Which would be a trick. The dresser's a hefty piece of furniture, and just a bit too high for short Jack. 

Murdoc considers. "Dalton, would you like me to help you get him down?"

"That," Jack says, dropping into a sweetly parodic version of the Englishman's usual tones, "would be just smashing. Yes, please."

“Why are you on his side now?”

“Blatant favouritism, as I said. And it did mean an entire unnecessary week for me to have to worry about you two. Besides,” Murdoc says, with considerable amusement. “I want to see how you get out of this.”

“Um,” MacGyver says, pushing himself backwards. “Two things. One, it’ll really wreck my niece’s day, when she hears that my oldest friend’s given me a good kicking.”

“You know she’s incommunicado right now. Seriously, Mac, that’s a cheap shot.”

“I told him to play dirty,” Murdoc says, shoving a stepstool up against the dresser. “Ignore this appeal to your sentimental side, Jack. Go ahead and wreck your well-earned vengeance.”

Which has the effect of making Jack second-guess himself; but he takes a step up. 

“Second thing,” MacGyver says hastily. “I’ll install that new engine for the plane like you wanted. Remember? The impeller that you said you wanted and I said would probably blow the thing to kingdom come? I’ll put it in. Right this afternoon.”

“And that,” Murdoc says, “is just a briar patch appeal. Remember, this is a man who hasn’t seen his workshop for a month. He’s desperate to get back in there.”

“But I don’t want to really hurt him, now I’m thinking about it,” Jack says reluctantly. “And I do want to see how that engine would work…okay, fair enough. You can come down now.”

Mac descends. Cautiously. 

Jack promptly wallops him a good one. 

“But that was on behalf of some confused Colorado hiker. Geez, Mac, do you have any idea how guilty I felt eating somebody else’s bacon sandwich? That counts as a mortal sin in my book!”

“It wasn’t,” MacGyver says, making no move whatsoever to get up from the floor (that welt across his cheek will, Murdoc thinks, leave a rather conspicuous bruise). “Seriously, it wasn’t. I smuggled a pack of bacon home in that bag of chemistry books- why did you think I wouldn’t let you carry any of them?”

“Oh,” Jack says, rather confused. “But you can’t fit sixteen pieces of bacon in one hot dog roll. I’ve tried. What happened to the rest of it?”

“I was up at five in the morning making you breakfast, what do you think happened? Finished the rest of it myself- Jack, for the love of god can we give up talking about your bacon obsession already? I’ve heard way too much about it lately, as is.”

“How? I’ve been insisting I’m vegetarian all month.”

“You’ve been mumbling in your sleep. See, even when I had amnesia I knew there was something screwy about that.”

“Oh, yeah? At least I’ve never tried to duck tape anything while I was asleep-“

“I keep telling you, that wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t allergic to that pharmaceutical cocktail-“

“I do so love,” Murdoc remarks to Puss, “being in a relationship where I come across as the relatively sane one. It took long enough, but I must say it was worth the effort.”

He strokes the cat and watches their bickering with great interest. They’ll calm down soon enough, and that’ll be just as well.

But this now, is the sort of domesticity he can get behind. 


End file.
